A Beginner's Guide to Turning Your Life Around
by amegrace
Summary: Three weeks ago, Elizaveta never could have dreamed that she'd leave her fiancé at the altar and run away to Spain. She never expected to end up in a ukelele band, or become a barmaid. And never, ever could she have known that certain infuriating German albinos could charm the living daylights out of - No. She's going back to Roderich, right?
1. Step 1: How to Ditch Your Boyfriend

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia (but one day I might invade Prussia's vital regions.)**

**A/N: I haven't written fanfiction for years, so I apologise if this is terrible. PruHun, with some Gerita, Spamano and FrUK on the side. Look out for My Fair Lady references (my brain was _fucked_ when I wrote this.)**

Elizaveta Héderváry felt like a meringue. Layer upon layer of creamy silk and chiffon enclosed her, puffing out at the bottom; her feet were enclosed in dainty white heels; her long brown hair was pinned back and covered by a cloud of lace. Overall, she was hot and bothered underneath the wedding dress, and she felt the prickle of sweat on the back of her neck. Maybe it was just nerves. She felt very young all of a sudden, like a child playing dress-up in her mother's room. Today didn't feel real. It hadn't felt real from the second she woke up and realised, _today I am marrying Roderich Edelstein._

Throughout all the preparations and rehearsals and fittings, no one had asked her if she was scared. Everyone had congratulated her, and bought her useless things, like napkins and spoons and curtain hooks, and put on her on diets, but no one had asked her how she felt. Why was she so scared? This was what she wanted. She loved Roderich more than anything; she'd loved him since high school. (He claimed he'd loved her since middle school.) She knew him better than anyone; he knew her like the back of his hand. He was gentle, kind, refined as much as she was feisty, fiery, wild. They completed each other. _I love you, Roderich._

So, what was this terror floating around in her chest, somewhere in her lungs?

Lili and Katyusha told her again and again how beautiful she looked, how radiant. Elizaveta didn't feel beautiful or radiant. Everything was moving too fast. She had the urge to scrub all the makeup off her face and began to move to the bathroom, but then the Rolls arrived to take her to the church and her bridesmaids, dressed in pale pink, grabbed her arms and took her to the car. Normally, she would have been happy to see Lili so excited, but she felt numb. "You look pale," said Katyusha, and Elizaveta shook her head and forced a smile, and Katyusha gave her a hug and told her it was just pre-wedding jitters. _No one asked me what I want_, she thought frantically. _Even when Roderich proposed, I was barely able to say yes before he booked the church. _ And was this what she wanted? Elizaveta was twenty-two. She had a whole life ahead of her. Did she want to get married today?

The car pulled up to the church, a pretty little building with lovely trees shading it, and Lili and Katyusha helped her out, beaming with excitement. Elizaveta tried to swallow, but she felt ill. _I want this_, she thought. _ I want to spend the rest of my life with him_. The girls, holding their bouquets, began to walk in. From outside, she could see everyone stand up. The rustles of excitement. _ It's time._ She walked up the steps, her little shoes clicking on the stone. Everyone turned and cooed with excitement, and she saw Roderich in his suit, looking so handsome and smiling like an idiot. He was so happy. Everyone was so happy, but her.

And in that split second, as Roderich gave her a little, lovestruck smile, she turned and ran.

Out of the church and down the path she ran, shaded by those lovely green trees. Her veil flew around into her face; she ripped it off and kept running. She heard shouts behind her. Her eyes blurred with unshed tears. She was throwing everything away. Down the nearest street, onto the pavement. The shoes made her feet burn. Every crack in the pavement was a crack further away from her wedding. Her dress billowed out behind her and the tears began to spill, ruining the makeup that had taken an hour to put on.

"Elizaveta!"

The cry echoed from behind her; Elizaveta ran faster. She didn't care if it was her mother or Katyusha or even Roderich, for God's sake. She wanted to get out of here. She heard cars honking their horns, rude comments shouted from the windows. The tears fell faster. _Run, Elizaveta!_ She thought of Roderich, with that one kink in his hair and his morning coffee and the way he played Chopin and his sweet kisses the morning after. She turned another corner, into a park. The cakes he baked her on Valentine's Day, his insistence that he pay for the Wi-Fi, his violet eyes, that night they slow danced in the snow. _You'd really give all that up?_

And as she ran through the park, over sweet green grass and little spring flowers, she felt her shoe catch on one of many petticoats, and before she could do anything to stop herself, she was tumbling head over heels down a hill.

"Elizaveta!"

She struggled to get up, but upon seeing her pursuer, relaxed. It was Feliciano, one of her few friends to attend the wedding. "Elizaveta, what's going on?"

His eyes were full of concern for her, and she let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"Feli," she said, slowly (for it felt ever so strange hearing the words come out of her own mouth), "I can't marry Roderich."

"But why?"

"I'm twenty-two. Feli, I'm too young! I want to travel and get a good job, and fail at things. I'm not ready for kids and being married. I love Roderich," and here she broke down, because it was agonisingly true, "b-but I _can't_ marry him. Not yet. He's been with me since high school, I've never done anything by myself, for myself - God, I'm just not _ready!_" She couldn't stop crying, for why on earth would Roderich want to be with her now? She'd left him just standing there at the altar.

"Elizaveta."

"God, I'm sorry... Roderich, I'm so sorry... I've ruined everything, oh God..."

"Elizaveta." Feliciano sounded strangely insistent. His voice was calm, firm. "Do you want to go to Spain?"

Of all the things she had been expecting, it wasn't that.

"_What?_"

"I've got tickets to Spain. Luddy's already there with his brother, and Lovi's visiting his boyfriend - well, there's a whole bunch of us going there and catching up for a few weeks and I bought a ticket for Kiku but he's got the flu, so do you want to come?"

She stared at him.

"Spain?"

"Ve!"

"A-away from all this?"

"Mm-hmm!"

"And I could just take a break..." this was a stupid, terrible idea, "I could get away from Roderich until things die down, and maybe he'll want me back, but I can't face things right now..." excuses, excuses, she was just running away from her problems, "oh Feli, I'll pay you back, I promise..." Good God, this was tempting.

"There's just one thing, Elizaveta..." Feli murmured awkwardly, twisting his hand into his jacket pocket. "You haven't got much time to make a decision."

"How long have I got? A few days?"

"Maybe... more like fifteen minutes?"

Elizaveta's eyes widened.

"The plane leaves in two and a half hours and I'm leaving really soon now," he said sheepishly.

"Feli..." she said, shocked. "I won't have time to get anything... Roderich will kill me... You're seriously asking me to run away to Spain with you?"

"Elizaveta, we don't have much time!" he said worriedly.

It was do or die.

"Yes," she said. "I'll come."

* * *

><p>Elizaveta, Lili and Katyusha had gotten ready at the hotel, so it was easy to drop back in and change out of her dress, and grab her shoulder bag. Her clothes were decent enough, a green jumper and white, 50's-style skirt. She and Feliciano sped in his Fiat to the airport, with the Italian singing and her face pressed against the window. The cool glass kept her from thinking clearly. What was Roderich doing now? She'd turned her phone to silent, so she didn't have to see his calls, and the calls from her parents and friends and relatives and <em>everyone<em> who'd been at the damn wedding. They must all hate her now. She didn't entirely know whether she hated herself or not.

Feliciano checked his suitcase in while Elizaveta bought them coffees that were far too expensive, and they rushed around, looking for gate 52 until _finally_ Feliciano found it and shouted across the building in excited Italian until she recognised his high-pitched accent and sprinted over to join him, only to discover they were on the verge of missing the plane, and were forced to walk through an aisle of glaring passengers, both of them blushing apologetically. They sat down at the back, hot and sweaty. Elizaveta was trapped between Feliciano and a portly, middle-aged man who kept sneezing. She edged closer to Feliciano. The captain announced that the conditions were perfect for flying, and they were instructed to fasten their seatbelts, and then, suddenly, they were in the air and it seemed like Elizaveta had run out of the church just seconds ago.

She wasn't sure when she fell asleep, but she slipped past dreams quickly and slept properly for the first time in weeks. Her head lolled against Feliciano's shoulder, and he barely even noticed, due to his daydreams about Ludwig Beilschmidt (which would have made even Francis blush). The plane cruised through the atmosphere as various passengers slept and complained and navigated their way to the bathroom, and Elizaveta slept peacefully through it all.

Feliciano woke her up. The majority of passengers were leaving the plane. Slowly, numbly, she grabbed her shoulder bag and moved out of her seat, eyes blinking rapidly. _You ditched Roderich at the altar and ran away to Spain. _ Was this some kind of dream? Nothing felt real.

"Are we meeting anyone?" she asked Feliciano, rubbing her eyes.

"Ve, Luddy's picking us up!"

Well, that was a relief. Feliciano's German boyfriend wouldn't ask too many questions. Didn't he have a brother who was friends with Antonio? She hadn't seen that crowd in years. She'd pretty much left their group when she started dating Roderich. She tried to think of Ludwig's brother. They'd been friends when they were little, used to beat each other up in her front yard... She couldn't remember much beyond that.

Elizaveta, with the traces of bridal makeup on her cheeks and Feliciano carrying a suitcase about two-thirds his size, limped out of the airport just as it started to pour. Brilliant. "The rain in Spain falls mainly on the plane," she muttered, and Feliciano's eyes widened.

"Ve! I loved that movie!" He broke into song, just as a maroon car pulled up and Ludwig Beilschmidt stepped out. He wasn't much different than Elizaveta remembered: tall, blond, muscled, with a pained look on his face as he listened to his boyfriend sing "I Could Have Danced All Night.' He turned around, carrying Feliciano's suitcase, and his eyes widened.

"Elizaveta? But-but I thought..." He glanced at Feliciano, lost for words.

"I'm not marrying Roderich," she gently informed him.

"And it's none of my business," he said, sweeping away his curiosity. "I'm sorry, I was just expecting Kiku... but it's great to see you properly again, Elizaveta. It's been a while."

"Kiku's got the flu," said Feliciano, and Ludwig turned around with a sweet, bashful smile, as if seeing his boyfriend properly for the first time - and picked him up and kissed him fully on the mouth.

Elizaveta smiled, but inside she felt a little pang of sadness, especially when she thought of Roderich, standing there, looking gorgeous and prissy and shy in his Ascot, and the fact that she'd just _left_ him there like an idiot, run away like a coward and left him standing there in front of a crowd of people, shocked and confused. She wondered what had happened. They would have cancelled the reception, all that time and money and effort, and Roderich would be home alone now as dusk fell, wondering where she was. Was he worried about her? No, he'd be angry. Anyone in their right mind would be angry.

Alone and unsure and feeling ever so vulnerable, Elizaveta slipped into the back of the car, and gave a start as she realised there was someone in the passenger seat.

"Lizzy? Mein Gott, it's you! Why do you look so unawesomely sad? Well, I suppose no one could ever look as awesome as me, but you look really, really depressing. Oh well. Remember me? I used to think you were a guy! Kesesese! I thought mein bruder's hot boy toy was going to bring the Japanese dude, but he brought you, which is awesome! Hey, aren't you supposed to be marrying that Edelstein prick today?"

Elizaveta groaned. Gilbert Beilschmidt. How could she ever forget him?


	2. Step 2: How to Deal With Prussians

**A/N: This was so much fun to write, especially the last part! I'm really getting excited about writing more PruHun now, so maybe some oneshots in the future? I don't know.**

**Francis enters this chapter, so enjoy!**

* * *

><p>After their passionate make-out session, Ludwig and Feliciano finally - <em>finally<em> - entered the car. She was sitting in shock. Gilbert Beilschmidt - no _wonder_ she used to beat him up. He was still talking, but now he was talking about Roderich, and she had the urge to smack him across the face, preferably with a frying pan.

"Roderich was such a jerk! I remember him now. I mean, no one can ever be as awesome as me, but he was the definition of unawesome. What a prude! I never understood why you went out with him, Lizzy."

Elizaveta groaned. "Don't call me Lizzy."

Blissfully unaware anything was wrong, Gilbert continued. "So, you ditched him, huh! You're regaining some awesomeness. Why'd you ditch him? Couldn't he get it up in bed?"

"That's enough, Gilbert!" growled Ludwig. "It's none of your business. The last thing Elizaveta needs is people asking her what's going on."

Feliciano squeezed her hand comfortingly, and they were off.

The trip to the hotel consisted of a fight between Ludwig and Gilbert over the radio (Ludwig wanted classical, Gilbert wanted Spanish flamenco to "get in that awesome Spanish mood", and Elizaveta secretly hoped Gilbert would win, because the last thing she felt like hearing was classical music. Neither of them won, because Feliciano turned the radio off and the German brothers fumed), a stop at a small cafe for dinner, where everyone except Ludwig bought churros while Ludwig despaired over their sugar intake, and an encounter with a small man who sold birds. Specifically little chickens. Gilbert bought one and christened it Gilbird. He shut up and played with it for the rest of the trip.

It felt like a lifetime before they arrived at the hotel, but finally, they pulled up and Elizaveta stepped out. She pulled out her phone. Twenty-nine missed calls. Eighteen from Roderich, three from her parents, two from Lili, five from Katyusha and one from her future in-laws. Elizaveta shuddered to think of what they thought of her now. She deleted all the calls and looked up at the hotel.

"Is it safe?" she asked.

It was a good question. The hotel looked on the verge of falling apart. Paint peeling, holes in the roof, and was it just her or was the building _leaning_ slightly to the right?

"Of course it's safe!" cried Gilbert. "Come on!"

Elizaveta, Feliciano and Ludwig followed the albino and the bird (perched on his head, much to the mirth of Feliciano), into the hotel lobby, where the receptionist simply ignored them.

'What room am I in?" Elizaveta asked Ludwig.

The German swallowed guiltily. "Uh, well, we were expecting Kiku, so, um, you're sharing with one of us," he stammered.

"It's okay," she said. "I don't really mind. Who am I sharing with?"

Ludwig sighed. "Look, I'm really sorry about this, but it's a choice between..." and here he paused, trying to regain his courage, "...Francis or Gilbert."

"_Francis?_" she asked incredulously. Francis... well, he was nice, but he'd undoubtedly try to seduce her the entire time. Either that, or he'd be bringing strangers into the room at two in the morning. And he'd walk around naked. All the time. Everywhere.

"I'm really, really sorry, but I'm sharing with Feliciano, and Antonio's sharing with Lovino..." Ludwig stammered.

"Or _Gilbert?_" she said, glaring at him. Gilbert... well, that would be a nightmare. There was the new bloody chicken, of course. And he wouldn't stop rambling on about her and Roderich, and he'd be constantly telling her how awesome he was. Gilbert was the last person in the world she wanted to see right now. Not for the first time, she wondered if it had been a mistake coming to Spain.

"Look, just... think over it for a while," said Ludwig desperately. "We'll go to bed in a hour or so, it's quite late and you must be exhausted. I'm so sorry, Elizaveta, it's just that we didn't expect-"

Suddenly, Feliciano appeared and tugged on Ludwig's left arm. "Luddy, you have to see this! The bath flooded while we were gone!"

Ludwig's eyes widened. "_Mein Gott_, what did you _do?_" He turned and sprinted up the stairs, Feliciano struggling to keep up.

She was alone with Gilbert. Great.

He grinned lazily. "So, who's it gonna be?" he asked. "Me or Francis?"

"I'm not sharing with you," she growled. "And I'm not letting Francis within a mile of me."

"So what will you do? Sleep outside? In the rain?"

He had a point.

"And I can guarantee you won't want to be anywhere near Toni and Lovino. The walls are thin enough as it is. And mein bruder and that gorgeous little guy - well, you _really_ don't want to hear what they get up to?" He grimaced. "Who knew that anyone related to me could be so _kinky?_"

Elizaveta shuddered. "Gilbert, the last thing I want to hear about is Ludwig and Feli's _sex life_," she hissed.

He smirked. "Really? I remember your yaoi obsession back in high school."

Her eyes widened. "That was a _phase!_ If you bring that up again, I swear to God I'll-"

"You'll what? We're mature adults, Lizzy. What are you gonna do, hit m-"

Before he knew it, Gilbert was on the floor, and convincing himself the ringing noise in his ears was the sound of his own awesomeness.

"Hit you?" she laughed. "You dare talk about that again, I won't just hit you. I'll rip off your balls."

Gilbert clambered to his feet. "I'd like to see you try."

"Oh yeah?" she shouted. She wasn't quite sure why she was taking the day's anger out on Gilbert, but _man_, it felt good.

"_Mon dieu!_"

The cry came from behind them. Elizaveta and Gilbert spun around to see a tall, blond, and admittedly sexy Frenchman strolling toward them.

"_Élizabeth!_" cried Francis Bonnefoy. "It's been years! How are you?" He pulled her into a hug. "I missed you, _mon amie_. What are you doing here in Spain? I thought our dear friend Kiku was coming with little Feli." She felt his hand creeping below the small of her back to cup her -

"That's enough of that," Elizaveta heard, and she was surprised when Gilbert pulled them apart.

If Francis was equally surprised, he didn't show it. "The last I heard, you were marrying the Edelstein boy. Hang on - wasn't it today?" He gave her a wink. "Sneaking away from the fiancé, are we? How _devious!_"

There was a lump in Elizaveta's throat and she didn't know how to tell Francis that-

"She doesn't want to talk about it, Francis," said Gilbert firmly.

Well, _that_ was odd.

"Look," continued Gilbert hurriedly. He pointed to the crown of his head, where the fluffy yellow chick perched. "I bought him today! How awesome is he!"

Francis burst out laughing. "Let me guess. You named him... _Gilbird?!_"

"How did you guess?" shouted Gilbert, and they were shaking with mirth a few seconds later.

Elizaveta would never understand these two.

Especially the German - no, hadn't he once insisted he was Prussian? Whatever he was, he had mercilessly taunted her ever since she had arrived, and now he was _defending_ her. Elizaveta didn't know whether to feel angry or grateful. Roderich would never treat her like this, that was for sure. She missed his aristocratic air, his gentle hands, his quick, sweet kisses. He treated her like a princess. _And you gave that up,_ she reminded herself. _You idiot, Elizaveta._

"Lizzy!" cried Gilbert. "There's a good bar near here. Drinks are on on Francis. You coming?"

Well, the day couldn't get much worse. "Why not?" she sighed.

* * *

><p>They stumbled out of the door, chased by a furious bartender screaming insults in Spanish. Elizaveta couldn't understand a word of it, but she hazarded a guess they wouldn't be welcome at that particular establishment again. Surprisingly, Gilbert hadn't gotten them kicked out - it had been Francis, who had been drunk enough to start a game of strip poker, and when ordered to leave by the bartender, had tried to seduce the poor man. Currently, the Frenchman (sans shirt), was clinging to a pretty young girl just as drunk as he was.<p>

Elizaveta hailed a taxi and bundled Francis and his latest fling inside. Gilbert squeezed himself in next to her and with slightly slurred Spanish, ordered the driver to take them back to the hotel.

"Well, this was an eventful evening," she mumbled, feeling rather lightheaded.

"Eventful morning," Gilbert corrected her. "It's three o'clock."

She groaned and tried to ignore the sound of Francis and the girl slurping each other's faces off.

They arrived back at the hotel, and managed to get out of the taxi before it sped away. "C'mon," whispered Francis (how did anyone manage to sound _that_ seductive after _that_ many shots?) and he stumbled away with his one-night stand, hands in places Elizaveta preferred not to think about.

"Well, looks like you're staying with me, then."

She turned and looked at Gilbert. "Room 34," he said, jingling the keys in his hand.

Elizaveta had been wrong. The night was getting worse by the second. "Do I have to?" she muttered.

"Well, I don't like you either, but Ludwig will kill me if I leave you outside."

_I should be making passionate love to Roderich,_ she thought, _not sharing a room with a stupid, unawesome Prussian._

"Fine," she spat, stomping up the stairs.

They were on the fourth floor. Gilbert unlocked the door, and they entered a rather shabby room, with brown carpet, pasty yellow walls... and one double bed.

"No," she said.

"Oh no," he said.

"You're an idiot! You've done nothing but make today already worse than it is!"

"You're unawesome! You'll corrupt me and Gilbird's awesome aura!"

They glared at one another.

"You're sleeping on the floor," she said, raising an eyebrow, inviting him to disagree.

Predictably, he did. "Elizaveta, I'm the one paying for the room."

"Oh, for crying out-"

"My cash, my bed."

"Really?"

And before anyone could blink, both of them were sprinting for the bed, as Elizaveta's shoulder bag hit the floor. The Prussian and the Hungarian hit the bed at exactly the same time, clinging to the sheets and pillows as the bed, overwhelmed by two people jumping onto it, creaked in protest. Elizaveta looked up at Gilbert and met his eyes, both of them wondering if the other would throw them off.

Neither did.

Simultaneously, they crawled under the covers, still eyeing one another cautiously.

They both opened their mouths to speak, but thought better of it.

Gilbird, miraculously still clinging onto Gilbert's white shock of hair, crawled off his head and nestled himself in the crack between their pillows. Slowly, the two relaxed. Instantly, Elizaveta turned away from Gilbert.

"Be careful of Gilbird," he said.

"Mmhmm," she said, voice muffled by the pillow.

"I'm serious! If you unawesomely turn over and squash him, you're on the floor."

"I WON'T."

There was a pause.

"Go to sleep," she said.

"I am asleep," Gilbert protested.

Both of them edged as far away from the other as possible without falling off the bed.

* * *

><p>Elizaveta woke up while it was still dark.<p>

"Lizzy," said Gilbert.

"Mmm?" she replied. _How did he know I was awake?_

"Why did you leave Roderich?"

And she truly didn't know what to say.

"I don't know," she murmured.

"You're lying. Of course you know."

"I-I guess I didn't want to marry him," she said honestly. 'I wasn't ready... I'm too young to get married. It was a mistake, and I only realised at the last second."

Gilbert didn't respond. She waited for ten minutes, but he didn't say a word.

Eventually she closed her eyes, unsure if what had transpired was real or a dream.


	3. Step 3: How to be a Little Less Lonely

**A/N: I'm not sure about this chapter, so I'm sorry if it's not good :(**

**On the other hand, we introduce Spain, Romano and England! Get ready for some FrUK next chapter!**

* * *

><p>"Elizaveta?"<p>

_Why are you doing this, he's furious with you, you shouldn't have answered..._

"R-Roderich?"

She heard a gasp on the end of the line, and God, was that Roderich _crying?_ Why was he crying? Shouldn't he be shouting at her? She gripped her phone tighter, knuckles white. "Roderich, I-"

"Eliza... my God, I thought you hated me. Where are you? Are you okay? Everyone's been so worried... oh Eliza, what's going on? If you don't love me anymore, I completely understand..." and she heard him sobbing quietly (Roderich was a drama queen, but he _never_ cried. Never) on the other end of the line. Much to her horror, she found herself choking up too, a lump the size of Jupiter in her throat, and a throbbing heart, and were those tears rolling down her face? Big, fat, salty tears, like marbles.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, and then she was bawling, curling up in the deck chair by the side of the pool. "It's my fault, whatever I did, I swear I'd make it up to you... Eliza, I love you. Please - please don't ever forget that."

"It's not your fault," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. "God, Roderich, it's not your fault. It was me, I don't know what was going through my head." She paused. "I don't know what happened, really... Roderich, don't cry, you're making me cry too." She heard his quiet chuckle on the end of the line, and couldn't keep a smile from breaking out on her face. "I miss you," she whispered.

"Eliza," he said, his voice cracking. "Wherever you are, please - _please_ come home."

She didn't know what to say.

Before Elizaveta knew it, she had hung up the phone and curled into a tiny ball in the deck chair, crying silently.

"Well, that was touching," said a familiar, irritating voice.

She sprang up, furious. "Get out of here! That was nothing to do with you! Get out!"

Gilbert lounged on the chair next to hers, grinning. "It's a free country, Lizzy."

"Just - just leave me alone."

"You didn't tell him?"

"Tell him _what_, exactly?"

He smirked, and put on a high falsetto. "_It's not your fault, Roderich, it was me! I don't know what happened! I miss you, Roddy._" He scowled. "Enough to make me sick."

"Gilbert," she warned him. "It's none of your business what I feel for Roderich. Leave me alone."

"Why didn't you tell him you don't want to get married?"

Elizaveta turned on her heel and walked away. She didn't know or care where she was going, but it had to be away from the albino idiot and his stupid questions, making her think at a time like this, god_damn_it...

_"Hola, mi amiga!"_

A familiar, tanned, extraordinarily happy face bounced into her vision. Out of the self-proclaimed 'Bad Touch Trio', the cheery Antonio was the only one she truly got along with. After all, Francis would undoubtedly try to seduce her and Gilbert - well, he had to be trying to annoy her, because she had no idea what else he thought he was doing. Elizaveta would be happy to room with Antonio, but he was sleeping with his adorably grumpy boyfriend Lovino.

"Antonio," she cried and wrapped her arms around the Spaniard. He hugged her happily, rubbing her back. _He knows_, she realised, and her suspicions were confirmed when he whispered into her ear. "Feliciano told me. I am truly sorry, Elizaveta."

Feliciano! The Italian couldn't keep his mouth shut for _five minutes? _Oh well; in all honesty, she didn't mind Antonio knowing. He was a sweetheart. She was suddenly hyperaware of the tear tracks on her cheeks, and she couldn't help reliving the moment where Roderich's voice broke with sobs and he begged her to come home.

She had _hung up on him. _Why was she doing this?

Sensing her sadness, Antonio kept hugging her, kept rubbing her back, and accidentally tugging on her long hair. Her long hair that she seriously needed to _brush_, thanks to Gilbird making a nest in it the previous night. If Francis didn't pick up anyone else, she was going to move in with _him_ instead. Stupid Gilbert, making her think about Roderich and making her feel bad and oh, he'd say nice things but be _extremely irritating_ at the same time. How did he _do_ that?

'Hey! Jerk bastard!"

Elizaveta recognised the voice immediately. Once you met Lovino Vargas, you'd never forget him.

She broke away from Antonio, composing herself. "Hello, Lovi!" He was so grumpy, but so completely adorable.

"'Lo," he mumbled, turning furiously red. As if suddenly remembering something, all embarrassment rushed from his face, and he turned around, pointing an angry finger at Antonio.

"You jerk bastard! I leave the hotel room for _one second_ and there's an influx of _turtles_? In the sink? Antonio, those fucking turtles don't just appear out of _nowhere!_ You bastard, did you - DID YOU BUY THE TURTLES? ANTONIO?"

Antonio rubbed his neck bashfully. "Well, Lovi, the little turtles kind of... reminded me of you. A bit. Your head."

"My head? My fucking _head?_ Are you telling me my _head_ looks like a turtle?"

"Only a little bit, Lovi! And not even that much - yeah, the more I think about it, there's, aha, no resemblance at all! No, I'm serious! I'm - Lovi, I'm not smiling!"

"My boyfriend thinks I look like a turtle? I hate you, jerk bastard!"

"Lovi, I'm only smiling because I love you so much!"

"Oh, _as i_- jeez, Antoni_oh_. _Ohh_. Bastard, don't kiss me like that, there are _ladies_ around."

"I'm not complaining," said Elizaveta, who had gotten over her teenage yaoi obsession, but did consider male homosexuality an _art_.

Romano flushed a deep pink. "Weirdo," he muttered, but allowed Antonio to kiss him all the way back to the building. Gilbert had been right about those two.

In actual fact, Elizaveta felt... lonely.

After all, Antonio and Romano were all over each other, not to mention Ludwig and Feliciano, who she hadn't seen all morning. Francis could have one-night stands with anyone he pleased, and Gilbert - well, Gilbert didn't need anyone to feel complete, as he so often boasted. In all the time Elizaveta had known him, he'd never dated, or expressed the will to do so.

He was fine, and everyone else was fine, and she was alone.

"All those bloody lovers making you sick?"

Elizaveta turned around to see a blond, well-dressed gentleman sitting at one of the little breakfast tables, with a killer British accent and a grumpy scowl and holy sweet mother of frying pans, look at those EYEBROWS. Truly magnificent, ridiculous eyebrows that rested on his face like furry caterpillars, demanding her attention. She could not take her eyes off the eyebrows. Were they even real? How could they be real? Surely eyebrows could not be that thick, that fuzzy, that -

No. To continue staring at his eyebrows would be rude and unladylike, and Elizaveta was a lady.

_Ladies don't leave their fiancés at the altar and run off with their gay best friends to Spain and share a bed with Prussians and chickens._

"Ngh?" she managed to reply, rather confused.

"I said, are all those bloody lovers making you sick? Swanning around like ballet dancers, stealing kisses in the moonlight, playing each other love songs. It's preposterous."

"Oh," said Elizaveta. "Well... I don't begrudge them their happiness. They're lucky."

"Ahhh," said the gentleman, reaching out and grabbing her arm. He pulled her into a seat next to him. "So, _that's_ why you're in Spain, eh? Running away? Well, so am I, to be honest. Bloke named Alfred. I liked him a lot, maybe even loved him a bit, but I behaved like an arse. Insulted the poor lad once too often and he told me to get out of his house." He sighed. "I bought the plane ticket that afternoon."

Elizaveta wasn't the type to share anything with strangers, but the British gentleman seemed sweet enough. "I was engaged," she said, hesitating a little. "His name is Roderich, and he's a concert pianist. We had the wedding yesterday, and he was there, everyone was there, and I was about to go into the church, but - oh, I don't know, _something_ snapped and I ran away. Like a coward. And my best friend offered me a ticket and we were on a plane two hours later."

The gentleman nodded, eyes kind. "Arthur Kirkland," he said, extending a hand.

"Elizaveta Héderváry," she replied, shaking it.

"Where are you from?"

"New York, what about you?"

"I lived in Texas with Alfred, but I suppose my home is London once again."

She laughed. "I'm in a similar situation. I'm not really sure where I'll live now, because I moved straight from my parents' place to Roderich's. Maybe I'll come to England."

"You're not going back?"

The question was sudden and almost as probing as Gilbert's constant jabbering, and Elizaveta tried to think about what she'd said. "Well, I guess I will. If he'll have me."

Arthur lowered his eyes. "If you'll forgive me, I couldn't help hearing your phone conversation before. It was rather one-sided, but I got the gist of what Roderich said to you. Elizaveta, he _will_ have you back."

All of a sudden, Elizaveta was flooded with sudden thoughts of Roderich. Roderich the awkward, gangly teenager who played the piano at school concerts. The silly little thrill she felt when he stood up and said, "This piece is for my dear Eliza." Tangling limbs in the golden sun. Dancing on their graduation night. Their first time, as strange as it was sweet. Moving in with him, lugging boxes and suitcases past the piano. Crashing into the piano and having to get the damn thing tuned. Going out to dinner and oh god, the time when she accidentally spilt the soup all over the waiter. All those boring concerts where she'd sneak backstage and kiss him senseless before he had to go on. Roderich shaking as he got down on one knee. Comforting her as she got worked up about napkins and lipstick and flowers.

Roderich turning around as she stood outside the church entrance, smiling at the sight of her.

"I don't know how I feel about him," she whispered.

"So you came to Spain to find out."

"I didn't - that's not true..."

Arthur looked at her, smiling a little. "And not only that, you came here to find yourself."

"I know myself!"

"So how do you feel about Roderich?"

Well, he had a point.

Arthur sighed. "I'm sorry for quizzing you. I feel like a teacher. That's what I am, actually. A high school English teacher."

"I'm not anything," she said thoughtfully. "I've never worked."

He stared at her disbelievingly. "_Never?_"

"I didn't need to, Roderich came from a wealthy family and he got paid a lot to play at..." Her voice trailed off. "God, I've never done anything."

Arthur squeezed her hand and pulled a slip of paper and a pen from his pocket, scribbling a phone number. "If you ever need to call," he said, "or I suppose if you see me around and need to talk..."

"Thank you," she said.

"I have to be going now. I signed up for one of those bloody tours. If those wankers even _suggest_ that I try flamenco dancing, I'll hex them."

She laughed. "Thanks, Arthur. I'll see you some other time."

"With pleasure," he said, standing up and walking away.

"_Mon Dieu,_ I feel like _merde_," mumbled a husky voice.

Elizaveta turned and saw Francis stumbling toward her table, unshaven, with bloodshot eyes. "Remember anything at all?" she asked.

"Someone shouted at us?"

"You got us kicked out of the bar."

"Fuck," he muttered, slumping into the chair Arthur had left vacant. "_Je suis désolé, Élizabeth_."

"It was an interesting night, to say the least," she murmured.

Francis's eyes lit up. "Let me guess! You slept with Gilbert?"

_"What?"_

"I was right, wasn't I? Ahh, I'm always right when it comes to _l'amour! _You and Gilbert... my dear, it is meant to be. I see it in your eyes."

"No! I'd rather _die_ then do _anything_ with that insufferable, conceited, arrogant little asshole!"

"Oh," said Francis, looking rather disappointed.

"If you dare say one more word..." she hissed.

"Well, I naturally assumed that you ran away from Roderich to be with him, especially since our dear Gilbert was acting so strangely toward you yesterday."

She froze. "You thought _that?_"

"What else is there to think?"

Oh, Elizaveta could have slapped him.

"We are _not_ all as _perverted_ as _you, Francis_," she said through clenched teeth, displaying an admirable amount of self-control.

"Perhaps," he said, shrugging nonchalantly.

"I was actually going to ask if I could share a room with you - _no, not in that way, Francis!_ I just don't want to be anywhere near Gilbert or his stupid bird. So if you don't pick up someone else tonight... could I stay with you?"

Francis looked surprised. "Of course, _Élizabeth_."

"I need a friend right now."

"Gilbert cannot be your friend?"

"Gilbert cannot be anything but annoying."

"Think what you like, but he's been a wonderful friend to Toni and I over the years. Don't judge too quickly, _mon chérie_. Gilbert may be somewhat brash, but he's a good man, I promise."

"And he seems determined to antagonise me when it comes to Roderich. Which is why I need a friend, and I don't need a Gilbert."

"I would be delighted to assist you in any capacity."

She smiled. "Thank you - and get that smirk off your face!"

Smirk gone, Francis stood up and blinked a few times. "I'm sorry, but I must take my leave. In a moment of weakness, I signed up for one of those ridiculously expensive tours and now I must be shown around this town's highlights with a bunch of obnoxious American tourists. _Adieu_."

"Bye," she said, watching the Frenchman saunter toward the waiting tour bus.

Well, that was a relief. As much as Francis could be frustrating, he was a million times better than Gilbert. She decided to go back to Room 34 to grab a book to pass the time.

The door was unlocked, and she kicked it gently open, to see the rickety bed, the fading yellow wallpaper, Gilbert stark naked beside the bed, the brown carpet, her bags strewn over the floor - WAIT, WHAT?

She yelped and dashed from the room, shielding her eyes and slamming the door.

From inside Room 34, she heard a cheep and a grunt of confusion, than a gasp. "_Jesus fucking Gott shit!_"

"Put some clothes on!" she shouted.

"For Gott's sake, don't come in!"

"Why would I want to? My eyes already hurt enough!"

"Just - just wait, okay?"

After a few second, the door reopened and Gilbert, peered out, face a flaming red.

"Please tell me you're wearing clothes," Elizaveta pleaded.

"I-I-I am," he stuttered. He stepped out in swimming shorts. "I was getting changed. Knock next time."

"Believe me, I will," she muttered, much to her horror feeling the blood rush to _her_ cheeks as well. "A-are you going swimming?"

"Yeah," he said, regaining his cool. "I'm really awesome at swimming, you know?"

She sniggered. "Have you ever swum against me?"

"No, because you're so scared I'll beat you. Which I will, one day. Because I am awesome."

"Well, if I had swimmers, I'd thrash you right now."

"You think? Lizzy, just face it. You can't beat the awesome."

"Tomorrow," she said. "Just you wait until tomorrow. I'll buy myself some swimmers and kick your ass to Jupiter."

"Deal," he said, smirking. "Get ready to be beaten!" He ran halfway down the stairs and stopped suddenly.

"Lizzy?"

_"What?"_

"Did you, ah, see anything?" He coughed nervously.

"Wha- oh."

He was all red and nervous again. Twitchy, like a little kid.

"Well, you're a lady and stuff. And I didn't want you to see anything. So I'm hoping you didn't. See anything, that is."

Elizaveta raised an eyebrow, and grinned as an idea came to her.

"I'd never tell you."

Gilbert's face was now so crimson it looked like Feliciano's famous pasta sauce. "Lizzy..."

She giggled. "I'm not telling you!"

"Aw, Lizzy, _come on_, I just - it's kind of embarrassing! Tell me!"

"Never!"

He raced up the stairs two at a time and lunged at her. "Just tell me!"

"No! No way! No - Gilbert, get off! _Gilbert, stop tickling me! _Oh my God, stop!" She couldn't help laughing. He was furious and flushed, eyes determinedly averted from her face. 'I'll never tell - _stop it!_"

"Tell me, damn it!"

Just then, the door to Room 36 swung open and there stood Ludwig and Feliciano, eyes wide with disbelief. Elizaveta was suddenly aware of the position she was in; pressed against the wall, face inches from Gilbert's, his hand awfully close to her left breast. Shit. Shit shit shit.

Gilbert glanced at his brother, made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, broke away and sprinted down the stairs.

Ludwig and Feliciano were left staring at Elizaveta.

"That - that wasn't..." she said hastily, voice trailing off as Feliciano raised an eyebrow and oh god, he _winked_.

"Come on Luddy!" he chirped, slipping an arm through his and half pulling him down the stairs. "Let's leave Elizaveta to her fantasies!"

Well, _that_ was humiliating.

Oh God.

She was going to _kill_ Gilbert.


End file.
